Crash
by KAirismatic
Summary: Where Chucky has to come to terms with just how much he really cares about Andy when he gets a call from the nearby hospital. CAndy.
1. Thursday

To me, you are still that little boy who told me I was your best friend.

I don't fucking _care _that you have grown to be four or seven or however many fucking feet taller than me, have muscles that allow you to do things that I now can't. I really could give a shit that you survived hell and beyond, that you can fix cars and do push-ups with no sweat. You can roll your eyes at me and pick _me _up all you want, but in my own fucking mind, you are still that little boy who told me you loved me.

Bad choice on your part, really.

How is it that you can be so smart but such a dumbass at the same time?

It's Thursday. The hospital called today. About you.

When you didn't come home the time you usually do, I didn't really care. Except for the fact that I actually fucking _did_. I told myself that you were just stuck in traffic, you were talking to someone at work, you stopped somewhere to help fucking rescue kittens or old ladies- everything and anything. I tried to avoid the fact that maybe it was this.

You would've laughed at me if you'd seen the way I was pacing all over the house. I _might_ have been crabbier than usual. There also is a chair leg that _might_ have broken.

The doctor tells me it was a semi-trailer that hit your car.

The police tell me it wasn't your fault- _fuck_ them, I knew that. You always drive so goddamn careful. There was no way it was your fault. Had there been photographic evidence saying it _was _your fault, I still would have gone to my fucking grave in denial.

I would volunteer to kill the bastard that hit you, but I know you wouldn't like that.

I don't want to hold your hand, because I'm kind of embarrassed that other people will see, that they'll see me here, showing how much I really don't want you to go- you know how I fucking _hate _showing so much emotion. I don't want to put our fingers together because that means I'll have to remember all the other times we held hands and that if you really do leave me alone I'll have to face the fact that we won't be holding hands anymore. And shit- that fucking just _terrifies _me.

I'm sorry I told you to stop grabbing my hand and told you I hated when you "got too fucking physical" all those times.

I'm so sorry- I really actually didn't mind it. Hell, who cares- I liked it. I really did.

Fine. I'm giving in and holding your hand anyways. If I just don't look anywhere but at you, I won't know who sees and who doesn't. It kind of hurts looking at you though, because I can see your eyes that are shut instead of looking at me. You have the look of death instead of smiling and joking with me. I am half expecting you to all of a sudden open your eyes and find out you just pulled some sort of sick prank. But I know you would never do that to me.

I'm going to fucking kill you if you die here.

Please wake up.

There are tubes running all over the place. There was a time I thought running needles into people's skin was pretty damn awesome, but right now, seeing this IV stuck into your vein, I can only feel sick. I guess because it means you're in some serious shit right now. The doctor didn't have an answer for me when I asked when you'd wake up. She just sort of murmured something about, "soon," and fuck, maybe soon means in a week, maybe it means in a month.

What the fuck does _soon _mean in hospital speech?

Andy, you can't die on me. You survived all the hell I ever gave you- how fucking _lame_ would it be that a semi-trailer was what cut your cord?

Please don't leave me.


	2. Friday

Wake up, you piece of shit. I know somewhere in there you are laughing at me, aren't you? You know right now I could be at home, watching tv or something. Whatever the hell people do on weekends. But instead I'm here, wasting my life away waiting on your lazy-ass to get up.

It's Friday today. Will you fucking wake up if I sing Rebecca Black to you? Maybe you'll feel the same hell I'm feeling. Take that as my revenge on you for being dumb enough to get hurt. Maybe a little bit of revenge for all the times you thought it'd be real fucking _cute _to sing songs at me whenever you pleased, selfish cunt. Don't play innocent- I remember. It was always some song on that one station on the radio, sunny something. Some numbers.

You would always dance all crazy while you sang and make gestures at me along with the music until I laughed to get you to stop. It's not like you ever really made me smile with that ridiculous clown act.

You know, I don't even know what time it is.

I just know that it's morning again, and that I managed to stay here despite what the nurse said, because that bitch can't tell me what to do. If there is anything good about being small, it's that I can hide easier. No one noticed that I was still here. Are you proud of me? I'm thinking positive, like you always tell me to.

Aunt Maggie stopped by, along with your mom. They were sniffling of course, but what's the point? Crying won't make you wake up, unless you're some sort of princess in a fucked up fairy-tale version of Sleeping Beauty, only you need tears to wake you up instead of a kiss from some magical prince.

Fuck me. I'm getting jealous of a made up prince. I hate you, Andy.

Maggie brought soup, but it makes no sense. You're not awake, so how can you eat this?

She's felt the baby kicking. She tells me that it's a boy. Like I care. Like I really fucking care.

Ok, so I _had_ asked what gender it was, but it was only for your sake. I know you'd want to know. So I'm telling you now.

She hasn't picked a name yet, but she and Johnny are working on it. They've come up with some ideas. Johnny apparently thought Bernard was a good name, but I'd say it's pretty dumb. Can you imagine, having a stupid sounding name like that? Going to school and having to tell all your friends your name's Bernard.

Don't look at me like that. It _is _a shitty name.

Do you mind if I eat your soup? I'm fucking hungry, and it's not like _you'll _be eating it anytime soon. It looks like it's some sort of potato chunk stuff. You don't like it that much do you? I remember whenever you made soup, it was always more of a chicken noodle kind. Which is typical- of _course_ you would like that kind, you goddamn perfect poster boy.

What had you said about it? That it made you feel warm inside or some shit like that. The first time you made some for us, you almost burned it because you were trying to explain it to me because I'd never had it before. You thought it was the saddest thing, that I'd never tasted this. You tried to use words to describe how wonderful this stupid soup was, and I didn't get it. Because it's just fucking soup.

Except when you held me so close to you I almost suffocated as we ate it together, I think I sort of understood what you meant.

I'll say I'd never been so warm in all my life, with your fucking hot soup and your sweaty embrace- fuck you.

Oh, before I forget, your mom says to get well soon, and that she loves you. Typical motherly things to say.

The nurse just caught me again. Fuck her. She can't make me leave just because the hospital closes. What would I do that would be so bad anyways, if I stay? Use their bathroom?

She's changing your IV. You're a selfish fuck, you know that? Making these people all dote on you while you snooze away like a hibernating bear. Do you know how many other patients she has to take care of? Who the fuck do you think you are?

_Who the fuck do you think you are_, laying there probably dying when I fucking don't want you to?

The nurse doesn't say anything to me. Good. I would have cussed her out. Again. Telling me it's not good to stay here all day- what does she know? How does she know what's good for me, huh? Can you tell me that, Andy?

That's right, she _doesn't_. Only I know what's fucking good for me.

I've probably played cards with you four-hundred times. You've lost every time. For once, I'm winning. Don't even accuse me of cheating, you lousy shit. I'm playing fair, for the record. And, in fact, I only cheated at a board game that _one time_, cut me some fucking slack. And it was fucking _scrabble_. That game is really the worst creation known to man, especially if that man is really bad with words, like me.

Andy, I'm not fucking going home. It's boring there and there's nothing to do. You can't make me go.


	3. Saturday

Your heartbeat is a little faster against me today. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I mean, it could be good, if it's just becoming steady, but if it's going to spiral into too fast-

It's a good thing I was never a fucking doctor.

Did you know that when I was a kid, I used to love going to the doctor's office? The one we went to as a family had a television that played lots of movies, so I always liked sitting in the waiting room. My mom would always forget to bring a pen- so when she had to sign the papers at the front, she would always reach into her pocket and get flustered because, once again, she hadn't brought a pen.

You'd remember to bring a pen, wouldn't you? Do you ever forget anything?

I guess you forgot to look one last time before driving out in front of that goddamn pile driver. I _still _would like to wring his arrogant neck.

Aunt Maggie came again, this time with some weird egg casserole. I had no idea they made fucking _casseroles _out of eggs, did you?

Your mom came too, all full of hugs for us (I tried to get her to get off me, but she was persistent) but she had to leave soon. That bastard Norris came by though, to see his "beloved step-son." You know how he is, always using words to make everything sound like we're graced with the presence of Shakespeare himself.

Tell me Andy, why are you so fuckin' _beloved_ anyways?

Did you know half the nurses on this floor talk about you while you sleep? Yeah, you little cunt. They argue on who will come and check on you all the time, or change your IV. Sometimes they come in with no real reason to come see you, just to peek about like obnoxious fans. They do it right in front of me too, like I can't hear a goddamn word. They say I'm so lucky to know you. They don't even _know_ you, Andy. They don't know you like I do. How can they say that?

Though if I'm honest, they'd probably love you even more if they did.

Today is Saturday and normally, you would try to wake _me _up, like you always do, you annoying bastard. By now, you'd probably have given up and started to make coffee. I used to hate coffee- it's your fault I drink it now. At least I like it black, and not with all this sugar and cream like you do, like the little wuss you are. Do _you _even like coffee, with all that covering it up? Why don't you just fucking drink milk and sugar instead?

Goddammit Andy, I miss you.

Do you know how pathetic that is? It's only been three days, and I already miss you. Your dopey grin, your agonizingly calm voice, your golden eyes- _fuck you_. Everything about you I'm missing right now.

I wish you could hear me. Maybe you'd go a little faster and try to wake up now. Selfish ass.

People talk about me too, you know. They think I'm crazy. Why? Because I don't go home? Why the fuck does it even matter? I know- you think I should go home too. But I already said there wasn't a damn point! Why do they care what I do? How can they even pretend to understand how useless it is to go back there, to that crummy old piece of garbage, that stupid place that _I _didn't even fucking pick out- it was _you_! I never even wanted that place!

How can they begin to understand that that _shit hole _isn't _home_ for me right now.

When you were driving home, were you singing along to the radio? Do you know what I was doing? Nothing- I was watching television. I was just beginning to get tired of the infomercials when the phone rang. You know, I almost didn't pick up. I thought it was just a sales call. You know, those calls that we would sometimes pick up and prank?

Do you remember that time you tried to pretend you were an old grandma, and I was your rambunctious toddler? I think the sales guy was new, because he fell for it. I think he even felt _sorry _for you. We were so fucking _bad _at holding in our laughter, how could he not have known? I think we were on that phone for about an hour. _An hour_, Andy. What the hell were we doing, wasting our time like that?

Oh, don't start with me. It was _your _idea.

I had to call your boss for you and tell her what happened. You had three or so messages and missed calls on your phone before I finally told them. Sorry I'm such a lazy shit. I didn't know how to tell her without making her too upset. She said she'd let everyone know, and that they're hoping you get better.

_Fuck you_, my voice was shaking the whole time, Andy. It's almost like saying it out loud to someone sealed your death or something. I couldn't stop it either. I hate that.

Andy, I-

You know what? Nevermind. I'm really tired. I'm real fuckin' tired. I'm going to sleep. See how you like that, me sleeping away while you sit here and watch, wondering if I'll ever wake up or if that last good-bye we had was our last.

You had said just good-bye, right? No- you'd told me _I_ _love you_, like you always do. So predictable- that's you. What had I said? Something like _see yah later, you stupid fuck._ I always say something like that. Sometimes I wonder why it's so goddamn hard and I can't just fuckin' _say_ it.

Why can't I just _say it_, Andy?

**AN- **Hey, today actually _is _Saturday, haha *shot*


	4. Sunday

**AN**- Sorry if anyone has even been waiting for this to update. School has started up again, and so I'm either busy doing schoolwork, regular work, or getting distracted with some college event. Also, to a friend (you know who you are): I will start working on your one-shot ASAP. I don't know why, I'm just not getting what I want with it. But on with the story here!

Guess who showed his fuckin' face here today? That _dickhead_ who hit you came here today. He had the goddamn _nerve_ to bring his damn self in here like nothing was wrong. Just _waltzed _right in with a goddamn bouquet of flowers- like that'll make you wake right up. Stupid faggot.

You oughta be proud of me, you bastard. I was polite to him- _surprise_, I didn't kill him. Happy?

Fine, _fine_- ok. I know- I'm a shit liar. I was a little rude to him. But you _have_ to give me credit! Cut me some fucking slack! The guy _hit _you- he's the reason you're here, still unconscious with tubes running in you everywhere when you should be safe at home right now, reading or driving me fuckin' _crazy_. You're lucky I didn't just pounce on him the moment he walked in here!

Whatever. I don't care, anyways.

Andy, when will you ever wake up? _If _you even do.

I have to admit something. I lied. Not about the guy- cross my heart, or whatever you stupid people say. I didn't kill him. I didn't even _hurt_ him. In fact, I could tell he actually _was _sorry; and he should be too. How _dare_ he hurt you.

But that's not it. I'm sorry I called you selfish. It's not your fault that you got hit.

I'm just really mad at myself, though you'd tell me there's no reason for it.

How can I explain this to you?

I know I'm smaller than you. I know you have to reach things for me and that my arms aren't big enough to hold you. That doesn't mean that I don't spend every _fucking _moment wishing I could. Sometimes, when I get angry and yell at you and you don't know why- remember that? You always smile and laugh it off. I'm glad you know I'm not really angry at you- because I sometimes just get so _frustrated_, that you seem to be able to do all these things for me and I can't seem to do anything back.

When I got that call, I was so _mad_. I was angry that I hadn't been there with you, to say something, to stop it. _To protect you_.

_Goddamnit_- when I got that _fucking _call, I thought of the first time I saw you, you know, when you told me you were glad we would be friends? Yes. I saw your face, when you were still really young. Your stupid, child-like, innocent, fucking _adorable _face. And I saw that face dead.

Not as pleasant as I'd thought it would be back then. Now it just shakes me up in all kinds of _wrong_. I know, I know. I couldn't have known. I get it. I can't help how I fuckin' feel, Andy. Don't try to make me feel any different.

The nurse told me that your vitals are regular. Good, right? You're not gonna just fuckin' _drop _dead one day are you? That would be a shit move. I'd hate you forever if you did. Yeah- I really fucking _would_. I'd make your epitaph really dumb too. Then we'd all have a laugh.

What? What was that?

Did your hand just move? I thought I felt it.

Or maybe I'm just going batshit crazy. You realize that, right? You are making me go crazy.

The nurses have given up trying to make me go anywhere, Andy. I think they finally got it. Do you understand, Andy, that I can't leave you? Not when you're like this. I really tried to go home that Thursday night. I tried. I couldn't sleep.

Andy, I couldn't even fucking sleep on the chair next to you. I-

Fuck, _nevermind_. If you can hear me, you'll know anyways. I don't have to say a fucking word, and so I _won't_. You can't make me do a thing.

Your mom came again, of course. She asked one too many questions. I was surprised- usually it's Maggie who asks all the questions and is nosy. _Too nosy._ I know you love them, Andy, but I honestly have _no_ idea how you handle all these women fussing over you. I certainly couldn't handle that sort of shit. I can't even handle an hour or two of it.

Is that why everything you do is so careful and neat?

I bet it is, you stupid shit. That's why you're so goddamn, oh, what's that word? _Meticulous_. Oh, you're proud of me, are you? I can be smart when I want to be, dumbass. I'm not all as uneducated and stupid as you think.

I know, I know. You think I am so _special_. Why do you always say stuff like that to me? It makes my skin crawl, and I don't like it. You _know _I don't like it. You can't make me like it, no matter how much you say it to me. You can't make me do a _thing_, Andy Barclay.

I wish I could fuckin' wake you up. I actually kind of miss you. Fuck you.


	5. Monday

Today is fucking Monday, and I'm pretty sure the hospital thinks I've lost my damn marbles. I blame you for this, you know that? This is all _your_ fault that I even got this idea in the first place. I had even known it was a fucking bad idea, but I decided to do it anyways, just for you. I hope you're real pleased with yourself, Andy Barclay. I really hate you right now.

Don't even start! I know you never said I had to do anything. Shut _up_. I know. I just didn't expect that one bitch to catch me, ok? I'll bet she's telling everyone right now what I was doing. They are all going to think I need to check into a psych ward- or worse, they're going to start ogling us through the window because they'll find it so _fucking sweet_…

I just thought it would be okay, if it was just you hearing it. I know I'm tone-deaf; I was in a required music class and my teacher told me to just _not sing as loud as everyone else_, and it was then I knew I was _not _a singer.

But you do it for me when I feel upset (even though I _detest_ when you pull that kind of shit on me), and I thought maybe it would be alright if I did that for you.

Clearly, I was fucking _wrong_.

Goddamnit, why does this kind of thing only ever happen to me?

Are you laughing in there somewhere? It would be nice to see _something _good came out of this hellish day. Oh, it's a Monday- now this shit makes sense. I'm not superstitious or anything (though I guess with what I've been into, I should be), but I'm starting to believe that Monday is just a dick to everyone who exists when he's around. He's a little like me, huh?

You stuck around though. Stupid idiot.

Thanks for being so stupid.

Shit, that nurse is back. I feel like I can't even look at her. Is she eyeing me funny, Andy? I'll bet she is. _No_, you stupid cunt, I'm _not_ singing this time. You can fucking breathe and do your job now. I won't break your stupid ears.

She's here to change your IV again. She's also going to try and feed you through this tube here, you know, it's this green looking one. How is that supposed to work if you're barely alive? Are you conscious enough to swallow still?

Sorry, I didn't mean to be squeezing your hand so hard. I didn't even notice until now.

Goddamnit, Andy, I'm seriously embarrassed right now. I would punch you if I wasn't so worried about you. Couldn't you at least have woken up to tell me to stop before she came in here? This is seriously frustrating.

Since we're on the subject of singing anyways (or in my case, _attempting _and sounding more like a dying crow), were you ever in a choir? I can see you being a little choir boy all through your school years. I'll admit, you're not all that bad at it, so I'm just a little curious, is all. I remember you had music class back in grade school, but that doesn't really count, does it?

I wasn't there when you were in middle school, so I wouldn't know. Did you choose to do it then? Or did you just sing in the shower? You sing all the time when you're with me- like a fucking canary. You get up too early too. I fucking _hate_ you when you wake me up before I want to.

But-

I don't hate you all the time. Most of the time I kind of _like_ you.

Hold on, I said _kind of_, okay? Don't get all fucking worked up like that. It bothers me.

It's really late. I'm pretty sure only the night-shift people are here now. It gets really quiet in here; it's almost spooky. It's weird to me, because at night you're usually squeezing me uncomfortably and telling me things I don't care to hear, like I don't already know _you fucking love me so much_. And then you kiss me too goddamn much. And then I yell at you to cut it out.

And then you laugh.

Sometimes I think I hear you laughing, and then I realize it's really not possible. I hate to be the pessimist here, but as much as you think you're going to make it out of this, I don't think it's going to happen. When was the last time I heard you laugh? Did I just shove it off and ignore you?

Why do I do that? _Why the fuck do I do that?_

I hope it hasn't bothered you that I sleep here every night. The nurses haven't tried to move me from here, next to you. You really shouldn't complain- you know, your arm is even fatter when you're half-dead than when you're fully alive, and you don't hear _me_ complaining. I'm not even bitching about the fact that _I_ have to _move _your arm around me for you since you're obviously too damn _lazy_.

I'm doing this for _you_, you idiot. It's not like _I _want to sleep with you or anything. It's not like I've tried and found myself unable to. It's not like _I fucking went home_, and the bed was _too _big and too _empty without you there beside me_. It wasn't like I tossed and turned and just _needed you_ next to me, like I missed _your breath and your heartbeat-_

It wasn't like that. I thought maybe I should do this for you, since you're about to pass away and all that. That's all.

I should stop talking, shouldn't I? Go to sleep, you moronic shit. You need plenty of energy to be dead again tomorrow- wait, what's that?

Oh, _fine_.

Just make sure the nurses don't see. I don't need them telling any damn stories about me singing _and _kissing you good-night, now do I?


	6. Tuesday

You feel so cold, goddamnit. Why do you feel cold?

I can't do anything! I've tried everything, Andy! I'm doing all I can, and you are pulling _none _of the weight here. Just absolutely none. I'm ashamed of you. You could at least _try _and fucking work with me here. I have literally asked for blankets four times, and _I _am sweating like a fucking pork roast on Christmas. But you don't see _me _quitting on you. I hate this!

Weren't you always the one that did this for me? Why are we switching roles now? With you being the lazy fuck, and me the old housewife. Isn't that _your _fucking job, to pick up after me and mother me until I punch you?

Well, it's not like you're punching me, actually. So you're not even doing my part right. Geezus.

You aren't even doing the simplest job of _breathing _right. You're fucking that up too. Congratulations, you officially sound like a gutter pipe when it's clogged. You can check that off your bucket list.

The doctors are even a bit frantic here, running in and out of the room. They're using all the words I can't understand, and I don't appreciate one bit. I'm a smart son of a bitch, but I'm not _that _smart. Why can't they use 21st century English with me?

What the fuck are they saying?

What's that? Did you hear what that guy just told me? He said I should leave. Yeah right. He can't make me go anywhere. I'm not leaving you. I'm _not_.

I am going to hold your frozen hand until my hatred for your stupidity burns some life into it. Do you feel that? I don't even care if I break your metacarpals- you deserve it, you asshole. Stop acting like you're going to die, you can't just fucking leave me like this. I never gave you permission to do that.

Oh. _Oh_.

You're getting a little warmer now. You stupid shit. They don't know why, either, the doctors. _They _don't even know what's wrong with you. Are you happy? You're officially a strange case.

I always thought that, anyways. That you were fucking _strange_.

Eddie says hi. Normally, I hate everything you make me do, but I have to admit, I'm kinda glad you told me to go patch things up with the old bastard. He was nice _company_- better than _you _are, at any rate. He told me he got a job at a local grocer's mart. Some boring shit, huh? But he seems to like it fine, at least this way, he makes money and doesn't have to steal.

Unless he gets a sudden hankering for nicking some poultry.

He asked if you'd made any improvement. If I was your teacher, and you were his kid, we'd be having that awkward parent meeting where the teacher has to say, "Your kid's a fuck-up and a retard, I don't know what to do with him. He still thinks purple is a number." That would be you, _retarded fuck-up_.

I tried to tell him I thought you were doing fine. Because you are. You're just being dumb- you know you should be opening your eyes and asking what happened. You just feel like being goddamn _ornery_.

But for some reason, I just couldn't say anything. I sort of just sat there and opened and shut my mouth. I didn't know what to tell him. It was like my knowledge of the English language had just evaporated into your breathing mask. Your case of idiocy must be contagious.

I didn't know what to say, Andy. So I just sort of sighed and looked down at my feet.

And I might have- _ugh_, shit.

_I just might have cried a tiny bit._

Just a little bit, but it was enough to make Eddie uncomfortable. He didn't really know how to respond to that; he just kind of tried to help me out by putting a hand on my shoulder. He's just like me when it comes to stuff like this, we don't know how to do the whole kum-ba-yah charade, where we hold hands and tell each other _everything's gonna be fine._

He was some good company. We talked about random shit after that. He didn't try to get me to leave, or go back home. He didn't notice my death grip on your hand, or if he did, he didn't mention it. It actually cheered me up, and when he left, I realized I had a really good friend in him.

But that just makes me fucking sad.

Because it's only because of _you_ that I even had him here today. If I hadn't taken _your _advice and gone to befriend him again, I wouldn't have had today. And I've realized that without you, a lot of things wouldn't have happened to me. A lot of _good _things. Honestly, I just don't know where I'd be without you.

_Where would I go without you?_


	7. Wednesday

"_Your_.

_Heart_.

_Moniter_.

_Please_, Andy. They're saying scary things. They're saying that you're overworking yourself. That your heart is beating erratically because your body is overexerting itself to heal. Have you been listening to me? When I told you that you were being a _lazy fuck_, were you really just pushing really hard to try and get well sooner? Why did you listen to me? You know how I am, I always say things, but I don't really mean them. Especially when they're shitty things.

I didn't mean it! I'm sorry- _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry._ Please stop, Andy. I mean it this time. Don't hurry up. I can wait, I can _fucking _wait! Just take your time- take all the time you need!

Andy, you don't understand. I can't do this without you. I can't walk out the door without you. I don't care that they can probably hear me say this, I don't care if the whole goddamn _hospital _hears me, _I can't do this without you._

You remember those flowers that that asshole sent you?

They're _dead_.

They're fucking dead, and I just couldn't stop myself from getting upset about it this morning. The nurse couldn't understand why I yelled at her when she threw them out. I was so fucking _angry _at her; I could feel literal angry tears burning in my eyes as I told her to put them back. Why did she have to touch them? Why couldn't she just leave them?

I wanted you to see them. I wanted…I just want you to be ok. Please be ok, Andy.

_Please don't leave me. _I don't want to be without you-I'm too _scared _to do this without you. How can I be so helpless to help you when you always seem to find a way to save me?

Andy, I'm _sorry_. I _don't_ hate you. I _don't_ wish you would stop hugging me, or kissing my cheek, or singing to me. I _like_ the way you are always looking out for me. I _like _it when we read together, even though neither of us can really act out any female characters' parts very well. I like fighting with you, but I like making it up with you even more. I _love _your eyes- they make me think of the sun, Andy _please_, my world will be dark without you…

Fuck-I _need_ you_._"

He had started to cry when he felt the hand he held onto so tightly twitch ever so slightly. He ignored it at first; he had thought this before, and he wasn't going down that road again. He only tightened his grip, sinking his face into the bed. He trembled viciously as he tried to swallow down the tears that just kept flowing without his permission.

But he couldn't mistake the stuttering in the chest, nor could he deny the voice that barely choked out:

"Chucky- baby… please… don't… don't… cry."

He sat up and looked straight into open, golden eyes. He could see that every inch of Andy was in pain, but his eyes were open. His breaths were uneven, and every once in a while his breath would catch and he would have to take a shuddering breath to steady himself, but he was breathing. He felt Andy's hand slowly curling around his, and he could see the hurt expressions cross his face every time he moved a muscle.

"Andy, you…"

He was frowning, but he couldn't stop himself when he jumped forward onto the bed and took the young man's face into his hands and kissed his face, again and again and _again. _"You stupid, you idiot, you _cruel_ son of a _bitch_," he murmured in between kisses. "Did you hear me this whole entire time?"

Andy nodded slowly, each move burning more than the last.

"Why the _fuck _didn't you say anything before, you asshole?"

Chucky was ready to let out a whole other string of curses, but the most broken sound came from Andy's mouth when he whimpered out, "_hurts_… too… much… couldn't… see… you… crying… I…"

"Shut _up_, Andy," he shouted to try and cover how heartbreaking it was for him to hear Andy sound like this. He leaned over him to kiss him again. "You just shut the fuck _up_! I don't want to hear another goddamn word come out of those- _geezus- _those _gorgeous_ lips of yours."

Andy complied, though it wasn't too certain whether it was out of simple obedience or out of pain to speak any longer.

Chucky, meanwhile, continued to spout bitter words at him. The nurse, who was just nearby out in the hall, heard the racket and came rushing in. The moment she saw Andy's opened eyes she gave a little shout and immediately poked her head back out, calling for the doctor to come in and see.

The doctor's eyes widened when he saw that the young man had escaped what had been certain death. He clicked his pen nervously and began scribbling onto his pad frantically for several last-minute tests to make sure that everything was absolutely fine. Chucky was disgruntled about the fact that he had to let Andy go, but he covered it rather well, simply muttering furiously for them to, "take their time with that bastard."

By the afternoon, Andy was cleared to leave the next morning.

Chucky sat on the chair next to the hospital bed and swung his legs impatiently. "You took long enough, you asshole," he complained to Andy, who was just lay there contentedly listening. The young man gave a semi-cheeky grin back. No doubt he was giving some sort of come-back; Chucky could see it in his eyes. He huffed and crossed his arms. "I can't _wait _until tomorrow; you know how goddamn long I've been here waiting on you?"

Andy just kept his smile, mentally shaking his head. He started to try and reach out his hand to grab Chucky's, but his sigh of pain caught the doll's attention and he reached back quickly and held it first. "Stop that," he grunted. "No moving. I _mean _it. I'm not waiting another week because you decided to try and play patty-cake with me."

"Hey- Chucky?"

The look that Andy was given was poisonous. "What did I _just_ fucking say? No…"

But Andy squeezed his hand gently and whispered, "I… need you too…"

Chucky blushed and turned away, frowning. "Just _shut up_ already, will you? Can't you just _listen _to what I say?" he shouted, and if Andy could laugh, he would have.


End file.
